


Pop and Fly

by epkitty



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-01
Updated: 2011-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-16 00:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erestor looks for truth in apples at Samhain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pop and Fly

**Author's Note:**

> I like to pair this story with the poem "The Witch Hecate Gets Her Crew Together" - credited to William Shakespeare and Thomas Middleton.

He cut the apple crosswise, preserving the five-pointed star formed by the core. The tip of the sliver-fine knife pried out the seeds one by one. Erestor ate the white flesh and ruddy skin of one half, and tossed the other into the darkness as an offering.

The coals in the shallow pit smoldered dull and orange, caked with gray ash. In the murky light, Erestor’s face shone hollow and sad. He stood and the low light cast his alien features into gruesome shadow and amber-white relief like stone.

He held the apple seeds lightly, in reverent, cupped hands. Three times he turned, his heavy hair swaying out like a tassel.

He kneeled at the pit, unconcerned for the leaves caught on his robes, the dirt gathered at his knees.

A tear fell, lone and hot over the flushing face. He laughed at himself and dashed the wetness away with a dirty cuff. “Silly,” he sniffed. With a quick hand, he tossed the fresh seeds into the coals. He whispered, barely a breath, “If he loves me, pop and fly; if he hates me lie and die.”

His long black hair brushed the ashes and the putrid scent of charred hair accompanied the sound of the crisp singe. He begged of the fire, “If he loves me, pop and fly; if he hates me, lie and die.”

The fire flickered and flared. Erestor demanded, “If he loves me, pop and fly; if he hates me, lie and die!”

A deep baritone rumbled from the darkness. “Do you really need to resort to children’s rhymes to answer that question?”

Erestor spun on his knees and hissed at the shadow. “What are you doing here?”

The tall, imposing form edged into the dim circle of light. He brought only silence with him.

“Answer me, Glorfindel.”

“You’ve been asking apple seeds to tell you if I love you.”

Erestor’s jaw clenched. He could not find the voice to deny it.

Glorfindel leaned into the glow of the dying fire and said, “Love is a strong word and – for two so unfriendly as we – an odd one.”

In an effort to gain some authority, Erestor pushed himself to his feet. He stared the cold blue eyes down. “Silly,” he agreed. “I know.”

“You could have just… asked me.”

Erestor swallowed tightly and looked away.

In the fire, the seeds popped and burst, chattering noisily in the coals one by one.

“Children’s rhymes,” Erestor muttered, nodding slowly to himself.

“Or, who knows? There might be a bit of truth to the old folklore,” Glorfindel said with a grin and ironic glance to the fire.

Eager to be gone, a muscle in Erestor’s jaw twitched and he turned to the dark forest paths invisible to the eyes of men, leaving the ritual – and the elf – behind him.

The autumn leaves crunched loud and crisp under his feet and dragged along under the train of his robe. He gently pushed away the twiggy branches that searched out his long and heavy hair with snagging fingers.

Glorfindel appeared before him like a ghost in the gloom.

Halting abruptly, Erestor swore. “I wish you wouldn’t do that.”

“Why did you leave?”

“Glorfindel. You are a thorn in my side, an aggressor at my Council, and a personal tormenter.”

The gold-brushed face creased in an expressive frown. “Then why the apple and why the rhyme, Erestor? Are you so keen to obtain embarrassment and disappointment that you seek it out even on holidays?”

“Say what you will and then let me be. Cease the rhetorical questions.”

“No. No rhetoric here, Erestor. For such intellect, you’re awfully thick-headed.”

“Yes, I’ve a thick head and you’ve a fat one. Let me pass.”

“No. Erestor, you dolt…. The apple.”

“The apple,” Erestor repeated. “You’ve lost me.”

“The apple seeds,” Glorfindel led him on.

“No more riddles, Glorfindel. No more games from you, and no rhymes from me. Just speak.”

Shaking his wild blonde head, Glorfindel smiled. “Speaking hasn’t really worked for us.”

“Apparently.”

Letting the grin slip away, Glorfindel sighed with true frustration and said, mostly to himself, “Ah, what option is left now but the truth?”

“Honesty now, after how many years of trickery, jokes, and sarcasm?”

“Yes. ‘Just speak,’ you commanded. I will. And I say this: love is an awful strong word. But despite our… differences, I find…. Erestor.” He looked down in defeat and sighed. “Dammit.” He looked up once more, blue eyes flooded with intense emotion. “I’m sweet on you, all right?”

“What?”

“Are you deaf?”

Erestor blinked. “What?”

Glorfindel let his big blue eyes roll in annoyance. He leaned in to kiss Erestor’s hot cheek. “Oh, I’m getting myself into a whole load of trouble.”

Erestor’s dark eyes blinked again, doe-like. “Well, yes.”

Breathing harder now, Glorfindel confessed, “I’m not easy to get along with.”

“I noticed.”

“Then why the apple?”

Erestor shrugged, frowned, and then smiled, so sweetly. “You make my heart pop and fly, Glorfindel.”

“No wonder I’m sweet on you.”

Erestor took Glorfindel’s hand and headed back toward the House. “Let’s go make a mess of our lives, shall we?”

= = = = =

The End

**Author's Note:**

> “If he loves me, pop and fly,  
> If he hates me, lie and die”
> 
> I don’t know where I originally learned this rhyme, but I’ve known it for ages and I think I’ve wanted to use it in a story for a while. Another variation is “Pippin, pippin bounce and fly, But if he hates me, lie and die.” For a simple rhyme most often associated with young girls, I think it has strong language – ‘hate’ and ‘lie’ – although many children’s verses contain what I consider graphic imagery. I’ve always thought it gives nursery rhymes a sinister quality.
> 
> I don’t know that the verse is particularly in character for Erestor, and I think too much happens in the space of the story I’ve written. That’s one reason I chose to tell a rather shorter story here, as a challenge to myself to fit the right amount of content for the length of the story told.
> 
> I think I wrote a slightly different Glorfindel here, more cynical maybe, (although I like to think each story I write does take a slightly different view of each character I portray, even the minor ones.) Upon reflection, Erestor is rather too emotional in this story for me. I tweaked words here and there, paying particular attention to word choice, as well as omitting needless words. (ONW, omit needless words, is one of my personal rules as a writer.)
> 
> Going back to the length of the story, I don’t know that the subtleties came across (as subtle or at all) and I’m not wholly satisfied with it, finding the flow a little off.
> 
> The poem that I picked – The Witch Hecate Gets Her Crew Together – doesn’t, in my opinion, reflect the story in particulars, but I liked the imagery and felt that it could be associated with the darker side of elves.


End file.
